All She Ever Wanted

So I’m angry. Tell me I’m not entitled.

All the bad nights I’ve had. I try not thinking about it. I tell myself that at the end I’ll still be here.

I’m here. I’m still here.

I say to the sisters, I don’t want her to be afraid.

Her two sisters. They read to her. Feed her when she can stand it. Bathe her. Brush the hair from her face. She always looks a little better and seems a little happier when they get the hair off her face.

They come downstairs and say she is asking for me. I’ll go up the stairs a hundred thousand more times before I’m finished but I already know whenever I do I’ll be remembering going up them this time. Every step I’ll be thinking of her. I’ll be remembering how I wouldn’t let her see me angry.

She’s so small now. She’s too young to be that small.

I hold her hand. I’ll do better next time, except there won’t be a next time.

I sit next to the bed and hold her hand. I move some stray hairs off her face.

It makes her so tired to talk. Imagine getting tired from just talking.

She says, I’m scared.

I know, I say.

She says, I don’t want to not see you again. That’s what’s hard I think. The idea I’ll never see you again.

I keep finding stray hairs to move off her face. I am careful with the hand I’m holding. I don’t want to break it.

She says, I want to know I’ll see you again.

You will, I say.

Promise me, she says.

I say, I shall shortly see thee and we shall talk face to face.

She smiles as well as she can. She smiles better than I can imagine myself smiling ever again. She is that girl again.

She falls asleep, and I go downstairs to be downstairs.

That was a beautiful gift you gave her, the sisters say.

People say they want the truth, but they almost never do. You give them what they want even when what they want is a lie.

But she is a good old girl. She is entitled to a few good lies.

It’s a crock. It’s not even a long sleep. It’s nothing.

Then again, I don’t know one way or the other. I could be wrong. I’m wrong about a lot of things.